


The Singhal Archives Season 2

by Kindnessgreen



Series: The Singhal Archives [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, No beta we die like archival assistants, say it with me: the Magnus Archives is a workplace comedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:48:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27456736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kindnessgreen/pseuds/Kindnessgreen
Summary: The events of the Halloween Bash weigh on the archive team, and Elias takes it personally. There’s an imposter among them, and he’s determined to find out exactly who it is.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: The Singhal Archives [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2006044
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	1. Fiery Fingers

**Author's Note:**

> WELCOME BACK! Well, it’s been one hell of a week hasn’t it? And as a reward for making it through, chapter 1 of season 2! Don’t forget to comment, I LIVE for your comments! And Enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Statement of Angelina Rider, regarding a book of cursed music. Statement given July 13th, 2009. Statement recorded November 6, 2016 by Elias Bouchard, head archivist of the Singhal Institute.

[CLICK]

ARCHIVIST  
(Sigh) Alright, so a change of plans. Mr. Simms, head of the Singhal Institute, has decided that tape recorders are strictly for archiving. This will undoubtedly throw a cog in my search, but I hope that something will reveal itself through work. Eventually, that is. Well, no time like the present to get started. 

(Clears throat) Statement of Angelina Rider, regarding a book of cursed music. Statement given July 13th, 2009. Statement recorded November 6, 2016 by Elias Bouchard, head archivist of the Singhal Institute. Statement begins. 

ARCHIVIST(STATEMENT)  
Just as a disclaimer, it was all supposed to be a joke. It wasn’t ever supposed to end up like this.

I’ve been playing music for my entire life, and have always loved it. The thrill of the moment, the feeling of the instrument as if it’s an extension of your body, the cheering crowd. It’s an exhilarating experience that could never be replaced. This feeling has been tainted by my experience, however, and I may end up needing to find a new band. 

It all started when I joined the London Philharmonic Orchestra. Before I got the job, i was working in various department stores, and did the occasional gig for money or my resume. I entered for an opening about three months before, and soon I got a part in the flute section. I bonded with the others in my group fairly quickly, and them I heard all kinds of stuff about the other groups; who was with who, which person was the equivalent of a teacher’s pet, and who to hang around for a wild night. 

One of these guys they told me about was one of the pianists, Mathew Flynn. He was a pompous man, whose ego was rivaled only by his skill on the piano. When he played, he seemed to go into a kind of trance, and his fingers were like fire across the keys. 

People had told me that Mathew had been a member of the orchestra for longer than most of them had been alive, and judging from his looks I definitely didn’t doubt that. He stated himself after I asked him about retirement that “I stick around to show you newbies how it’s done”. 

He wasn’t popular among the younger members, to say the least, and only really talked to the members who were in his age range. Most of them were close to retirement, or entering it, so he didn’t have many people to talk with. I would’ve almost pitied him, if I didn’t know that he had done it to himself. 

One day, he announced that he was going to be doing a bit of a challenge. Other members could bring music in, and he would be able to play it. At first I assumed this was his way of trying to get close to the other members, try and make amends, you know. But he revealed it as only a way of trying to one-up the other pianists, judging from his attitude. 

In light of this, people kept bringing him more and more difficult pieces, to try and show him up. But no matter what, he would always be able to play them. It would be something to be in awe of, if it weren’t for the man those talented fingers belonged to. From Mathew’s little game, me and my friends made a bet. Whoever can come up with the piece that could stump him would get treated to a day out with the gang. Even without that, I’m pretty sure the one who brought in the piece he couldn’t play would be revered as a kind of hero. 

We made it one of our goals to find lesser known pieces at the most difficult level possible, and got more and more heated as he proved his skill on the piano was truly unmatched. It pissed all of us off, but could never figure out how he could always play the pieces. I began to look on some sites for some more obscure and unknown pieces, when I came across an ad a site I hadn’t seen before. 

Now, I’m a rational person, and when a site says that it sells cursed objects I steer clear or ignore it. But it was one in the morning and was intrigued when I saw the ad. I clicked on it and was sent to this site called “Breekon and Hope”. It was a site that had all kinds of items, among which was a piece of music I had never heard of. It was titled “The Fires of the Pit”, stated to be written by Beethoven. I had never heard of it and couldn’t find it on the net either, no matter how much I searched. 

The sheet was surprisingly cheap for something that was supposedly a rare piece by Beethoven, but I wasn’t complaining since I bought it shortly after. After buying it I got a message telling me to meet them during my lunch break in Fortune Street Park the next day. I was a little nervous at this, since the park was within walking distance of my job. Still, I had already spent my money. I intended to go through with it. 

The next day I brought one of my friends with me to the park, with explaining the reason though. The park was fairly empty, since it was still early in the lunch hour, and found two burly delivery men sitting underneath a tree together, in grey jumpsuits with matching patches saying “B & H”. They seemed to be eyeing me, and I figured they were workers for Breekon and Hope. 

My friend and I walked over to them and the stood up, as the one on the left asked in a Cockney accent, “You Angelina Rider?” 

I answered yes and they handed me a yellow envelope. I took it, and they left in a white van with the ‘Breekon and Hope’ logo on the side. The two of us headed back over to the orchestra after lunch hour with renewed vigor, and the first thing we did was place the envelope in front of Mathew. He opened it and found the music inside, looking like pages ripped from a book now that I think of it, and gave me a look that was priceless; a look of utter confusion. 

I told him what it was and he shrugged, putting it on the stand to play. He called everyone to gather around, and began to play the piece. I hadn’t read the piece, but as soon as he began to play it the music was like heaven. We all revelled in the slow peacefulness of the music until it began to take a sudden twist, becoming darker and darker. All while this intensity grew, the pace of the piece began to speed up. It was almost imperceptible at first, but after a minute or so we could all tell; and it showed no signs of slowing down. 

I looked over at Mathew, and it became clear that he was beginning to struggle in keeping up with the piece. It quickly sped past him and began to reach five hundred beats per minute, but even with this he was just holding on. He refused to let it get past him, and in the end that was his biggest mistake. 

That’s when it happened, all of it at once and almost too fast to comprehend. At the climax of the piece, the music sheet caught on fire. But strangely it did not burn, even a little bit. As this happened the fire quickly spread down the piano to the keys, all the way to Mathew’s fingers. Mathew was in some kind of trance though, and couldn’t stop himself from playing even as he screamed out in horror and pain. The flames began to settle on his fingers and sizzle away at the hair, the skin, the tendons, and finally, bones. As he finished the piece with just bone left, they finally disintegrated and he could stop. He fell to the floor, his blood pooling around him, and cried out in agony so terrible it still haunts my dreams sometimes. 

Everything became a blur after that; the ambulance came, the police showed up, we were questioned and Mathew was hospitalized. I took the sheet in all of the chaos, hoping to rip it up or burn it. Nothing ever worked. Not long after, I found out that Mathew would never play piano again and was forced into retirement. 

I’ve drowned the pages, tossed them over the side of the Millennium Bridge. Hopefully that was enough and they’ll never find another victim again. Please believe me, I never meant for this to happen, it was only for a stupid bet. It was never supposed to end like this. But please, if those pages do find the light of day again, finish what I started and lock them away for good. After all, that’s what you do with secrets, right? 

ARCHIVIST  
Statement ends. Well, according to the report, Angelina went on with her life, and did not care for a follow up statement. Mathew lives in retirement with his husband and didn’t want to reopen old wounds. I don’t blame him, a traumatic event, especially a supernatural one, can be rough, and he’s owed at least his privacy at this point.

Breekon and Hope, though. I suppose they’ve been dealing in cursed artifacts for a long time. Where do they even get them? They probably steal them, like they did the coffin in artifact storage a month ago. 

We have yet to recover ‘The Fires of the Pit’, or have recovered anything that would suggest it even exists. It worries me a bit, the fact that she describes the pages as looking like they’d been ripped from a book. 

Could be a part of a Leitner, which is even more worrisome. If there’s a page, then there’s a whole book it belongs to. If it is indeed a Leitner, then that means that this may not be the last time we hear of cursed music. Past that, there’s nothing more to report. Recording ends. 

[CLICK]

[CLICK]

ARCHIVIST  
Supplemental. My search for the imposter has been fruitless so far, as Jonah seems to enjoy watching me struggle along. It’s annoying to say the least. At the moment I’m most suspicious of Simon, considering the fact that he shouldn’t even be here. Although, I shouldn’t push him yet, if it really is him. 

It feels like Agnes is hiding something though, and I’m not sure what. She has a habit of withholding information from us, and definitely knows more than she lets on. Definitely something to look into later. 

Peter has been unusually nice to me, and has been genuinely smiling at me in the halls. Suspicious. He could be the imposter, or just recovering from the trauma of being attacked by whatever that bug thing was. Either way, he asked me to go to a movie, and to be honest I’m a little tempted. Or he could just try to kill me. 

And I don’t even know what the imposter’s goal even is. To kill someone? Siphon information? Just fit in? One of the many questions I need answered that Jonah refuses to answers. 

And I don’t even know if the imposter is in this department, now that I think about it. They could be in artifact storage, research department, hell, they could be among the students. Connie could definitely help me with that. Or maybe not. Connie has come into the archives for work placements, and I don't want to send her out into something that might kill her yet. until I can figure her out, that is. 

Speaking of the bug attack, I still don’t have a solid explanation for whatever that was. Some kind of attack, maybe? It definitely wasn’t natural. Peter, Simon and I are the only ones who saw it, and that’s not a great start for answers. Anyone else who was there either hasn’t come forward or is just plain dead. Lovely. I’m just grateful we did something before it got out of hand. 

Supplemental ends.


	2. Eye of the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Statement of Christie Kien, regarding an accident at a construction site. Statement given July 10, 2015. Statement recorded November 17, 2016 by Elias Bouchard, head archivist of the Singhal Institute.

[CLICK]

ARCHIVIST  
Statement of Christie Kien, regarding an accident at a construction site. Statement given July 10, 2015. Statement recorded November 17, 2016 by Elias Bouchard, head archivist of the Singhal Institute. Statement begins. 

ARCHIVIST(STATEMENT)  
I’m not fully sure what I saw, or even if it was real. All I know is that I saw something, and feel like someone should know. 

I work for a company called Glowing Pyre, a construction company that gives shelters, schools, and small businesses a place to reside. We take jobs all across the United Kingdom, and have a positive reputation for g the most part. We’re not a well known company, but the pay is good and we do good for the community. 

I was helped by Glowing Pyre myself when I was down in a low point. I was homeless and out of my last job, and didn’t have any close family members. I was living on the streets until I found a Glowing Pyre shelter. The place never seemed to run out of space or food, it was like heaven. And the craziest part about it is that I had passed through the lot the building was on top of a month before, and there was no sign of construction. 

Long story short, I found a place to stay and got myself a job working for them. As I said, it’s a good job that helps the community. My life has turned up for the better since then as well. I’ve gotten a flat, managed to support myself, get a girlfriend, it’s all gone well. But I know you’re not here for my life story. You’re here for the accident. 

That day was surprisingly warm, with clear skies. I was checking into work that day, and noticed that there were more spiderwebs than usual. It’s not something you’d notice easily, but looking back it could have been related to what happened. When I came into work, there was a man and a boy who looked to be in high school at the front desk. They both had short brown hair and glasses, both clearly dressed up for something, so I assumed they were father and son. The kid was sweating profusely, but I figured that it was just the summer heat getting to him. I hadn’t taken into consideration that the room they were in was air conditioned until much later. 

The boss had come out of his office at this point, Diego Molina, and had introduced me to the two of them. The man’s name was Mr. Bleakney, and was apparently a private contractor that wanted to work with us for a project for a family member. I asked about the kid and he told me, “Oh, my son Jack? He came along because he wants to get a good look at some close and personal construction!” 

I looked at Jack, and could see right away that he either didn’t want to be here, or had a different reason entirely. I gave him a small smile, and he gave one back. Tentatively though. He also wouldn’t stop tapping his foot, as if he were waiting for something. I paid him no mind and asked Diego what the project was, exactly. He told me that he was here to write up the contract right now, and that there was another contractor coming later that day. 

Later that day clearly wasn’t soon enough, as the door opened again to reveal an old white guy in a long brown trench-coat and a top hat. He filled the room with the smell of fresh dirt, and bowed and introduced himself as Hezekiah Wakely. His presence felt oppressive and tightening, and soon all the other workers left for the site, leaving Diego, Mr. Bleakney, Jack and I. Diego’s expression became dark at the sight of him, and Jack looked even more frightened than before. Mr. Bleakney and I seemed to be the only ones who were out of the loop of what was going on. Diego asked Hezekiah, “What are you doing here?” 

“I’m here to make a deal, of course”, he answered, “After all, I am the contractor you asked for”. Something about his voice felt off, and couldn’t figure out what it was exactly. Mr. Bleakney told Diego that he’d be inside his office when he was ready, and I soon excused myself from the three’s little standoff and got to work. 

A half hour had passed since I had left to work the crane and still no sign of any of them entering the site. I paid it no mind at first, but it became a nagging thought at the back of my head after another half hour. That’s when I heard a bang come from outside, but when I got up from my seat, I got a face full of spiderweb. 

I wiped them from my eyes, opened up the door, and leaned out of the side, to see what was going on. When I did, I realized that I couldn’t explain what exactly it was I was seeing. One moment at a time, I suppose. 

Jack was sprinting across the site from the office, ignoring the protests of the other workers. He made it to the crane, and began to climb up the ladder like his life depended on it. I heard a bang from the office door and looked across the site to see a dark mass of something moving straight towards Jack, overtaking anything and anyone in its way. 

He began to climb the ladder up towards me, and I watched as the swarming mass came closer and closer. Soon enough I could make out that Jack had a handful of what looked to be pages of a book in his hands. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the only thing I was able to make out now. Beneath him, I could finally make out what exactly the dark mass was as it began to climb up the pillars of the crane. They were hundreds of spiders, skittering across each other and encasing the crane in its sheer numbers. 

I’m a bit ashamed to admit that I had slammed the door shut at the sight of the spiders, but on the other hand I’m quite confident it saved my life. As I slammed the door closed, Jack continued clambering on in the direction of the crane’s edge. The spiders fill close behind, soon swarming in such numbers around me I couldn’t see what was going on through the window. I was forced to watch as the spiders skittered across the window, fearing that if I moved or made a sound they might know I was there. If that happened- well, best not to dwell on it. 

I stood still in that compartment, with the sounds of the spiders crawling across the window as the only sound for who knows how long. The silence was soon broken by a sudden crash that echoed all around me. The crash didn’t recede though, not as much as it became a steady rumble filling my ears. The spiders began to clear from the front window, and through it I saw what looked like a window to another world. 

Jack was at the end of the crane, screaming something indecipherable. It looked like he was reading the pages in one hand, while the other was reaching for the sky. All around him, the spiders looked like they were trying to get on him but couldn’t. They made a perfect circle of space around him as he read. And then the sky. It looked stormy and brutal now, but as Jack screamed the final words of those pages, an electric blue bolt of lightning shot out from the sky. It went straight into his hand and through his body, and the sky began to open. 

Do you know those pictures of eyes of a hurricane? It looked like one of those right above us, but opened up into a sky that went so high it was dizzying. It terrified me to look into, and when I looked away an even stranger sight met my eye. The spiders looked like they were being pulled towards Jack into some kind of tornado, and he was the center. 

The wind around Jack was so strong that even the crane itself began bending towards him. Soon, all of the spiders were flying around him in a giant vortex that flew up into the unending sky. Higher and higher, until they were barely a slip of darkness in the sky blue void. I looked back at Jack, and he let his arms slump at his sides. He glanced back at me, and I blacked out. When I came to, I was in the crane again. 

The inside was covered in web, and as I ripped away the webbings I saw it was the dead of night. I looked around, and saw that the only lights still on were the streetlights and the lights around the site. I climbed down from the crane and began to run out of the site. 

As I ran along, I was stopped by the sound of something off putting. Knock knock. Below me. I looked down and realized that I was running on a concrete ground, it was dirt before. The knocking cane again, only this time more frantic, from underneath the concrete. Knock knock. I began to hear voices screaming out, crying, begging for help, anything. They were all underneath the concrete, my coworkers. I could hear them all crying out to be saved, and ran off. I soon called 911, and a week later Glowing Pyre was on the news, “Construction workers saved from concrete”. 

We were all given a month long paid sick leave, along with therapy for the experience. It’s strange, really. What happened to me almost felt like a dream, but I have lichtenberg scars on my fingers from the experience, and spiders seem to gravitate towards me a bit more since then. 

I’m just glad I didn’t get stuck under the concrete like the others though. That’s an experience that I’m glad I had my own in exchange for. They don’t even really remember how it happened, either. I suppose it’s for the best, anyway. If they ever found out who did it they would rip the person limb from limb. 

I did see Jack again, once. He was out with what I assumed were friends. He saw me and eyed me almost hungrily. His eyes were different now too. Instead of the dark brown from before, they were a piercing blue that almost resembled the ocean. I haven’t seen him since, though. 

Well, anyway, I guess there ends my statement. Strange enough, this sick leave has actually ended up making me feel even more sick than not. Well, nothing getting back to work won’t help. 

ARCHIVIST  
Statement ends. Well, isn’t this a bundle of loose ends? I remember when that came on television about a year ago. All of the construction workers at the site were trapped underneath a layer of concrete for nearly twenty-four hours, save for one. Christie was interrogated by the police, since they suspected her of being the one to do it. All evidence led to either her or the one overseeing the project, her boss Diego Molina. 

When looking through camera feed Simon so generously supplied, the estimated time that this Hezakiah Wakely fellow might have entered is complete static. It looked like some kind of dirt built up behind the lens, causing it to malfunction. I guess some things we assume as supernatural could just be left up to bad cleaning. 

Looking into Mr. Bleakney, he is a contractor who lives in Kingussie and does indeed have a son, Jack Bleakney. It appears he is a college student in France, but that’s as much as we can get on him. I suppose being the son of a wealthy man can afford privacy in this world. 

And it appears that once again one of Leitner’s books show up. If what she said is true, then there’s a good chance that Jack got his hands on one of them. How he did though, I have no idea. We’ll just have to try and set up an interview with him if we can. 

Recording ends. 

[CLICK]

[CLICK]

ARCHIVIST  
Supplemental. I still don’t have any solid leads on the imposter, so I decided to check on campus where the bugs attacked. When I went to check, I found that where the holes into that place were the ground was much softer and the grass much more sickly. 

I’ve also taken up Peter’s proposal that I join him, Simon and Agnes for drinks. If anything it might help keep a closer eye on them. If not, then I think I deserve to enjoy myself just a little. 

Jon’s husband seems to be spending more time around the archives for some reason. He’s been recording poetry around the place, as well. I listened to some, it’s... mediocre at best. It’s also advised not to ask him about Jon. Connie made the mistake of doing that the other day and was stuck with him gushing about his husband for an hour and a half. 

Besides that, I’ve noticed that we’ve begun to have some problems with heating and condensation. These will no doubt be problems come the end of November, and the files are at risk of ruining. I just hope Jon fixes the problem before that happens. 

Supplemental ends. 

[CLICK]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! I think I might get more constant with updates around Friday/the weekend. But besides that, enjoy the update! Also! I don't know shit about construction, so please don't @ me if it's not entirely accurate there's only so much google can do


	3. Primal Commandment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Statement of Marvin Strider, regarding his time with a LARPing group. Statement given October 31, 2016. Statement recorded November 24, 2016 by Elias Bouchard, head archivist of the Singhal Institute.

[CLICK]

ARCHIVIST  
Statement of Marvin Strider, regarding his time with a LARPing group. Statement given October 31, 2016. Statement recorded November 24, 2016 by Elias Bouchard, head archivist of the Singhal Institute. Statement begins. 

ARCHIVIST(STATEMENT)  
In all honesty, I don’t know if you’ll believe me. In all honesty, I wouldn’t believe myself if it didn’t happen to me. Just, hear me out. 

I suppose I should start at the beginning. In short, I was living alone in a one bedroom flat for about three years. I had a desk job that paid the bills, but was never quite right for me. Satisfactory, that was what my life was. But I wanted more. I wanted excitement, a risk, a thrill- something to get my heart going. I guess, looking back, I was looking for some kind of purpose. My parents had raised me atheist and... they had a pretty nihilistic view of the world because of it. I’m sure they didn’t try to impress their negativity on me, but I couldn’t help but internalize a lot of that as a child. They were never close to me, and weren’t close to each other either. I haven’t seen them in years, I guess I should say goodbye to them after this. 

I really started my descent into the rabbit hole when one of my coworkers, I can’t remember the name of, told me about a group that was looking for thrill seekers. They called themselves the Sanctum of Primal Commandment. I thought it was nothing but a weird LARPing group, and figured it wouldn’t be fun to go back into. However, from the looks of my coworker there was something in what she told me. Looking back, she was never one to assert herself anywhere, and carried herself as poorly as all the others here. But now she carried herself with a kind of intensity you didn’t find in office workers. I saw it, and I wanted in on it. 

I talked to the coworker about it, and we met that Saturday afternoon at the Blackfriar. When I entered, I saw a collection of tables pushed together with a large number of thirty to forty people around, chatting and laughing as if it were a gathering of friends as opposed to strangers. My coworker and I sat down and were immediately pulled into the mess of conversation going down at the time. I felt myself feeling a bit out of it though, as they were talking about all sorts of other campaigns and sessions, for the most part. As the night wore on, a man stood up at the end of the table. He had a sturdy build and a white beard, and spoke in a rough voice: “Hello everyone, my name is Trevor Herbert.

“Welcome back! I’m glad to have everyone here again! Tonight is gonna be special, as I’ve been doing some searching and have found a nest of vampires in Richmond Park! Tonight is special in another way as well, as we have a new member for the first time in months!”

Trevor turned towards me and gestured for me to stand up. I did, and all eyes turned towards me. I felt a bit self conscious, but for some reasons I couldn’t look away from Trevor. He had the same ferocity in his eyes as my coworker, but more pronounced, more present. He continued talking, but I don’t remember much. After his speech, things began to get moving as he walked away from the table and all the others followed suit. Trevor stood at the doorway, and looked over to me as I ended up being the last person in the pub. He looked over at me and smiled, beckoning me over. I followed, and we began to walk in through the streets of London.

We walked to the Blackfriars station, and all piled onto the next train all the way to Richmond Park. While on the ride, I thought over what I had gotten myself into. I was beginning to have second thoughts about whether this was LARPing or not, asI had never met someone as old as Trevor into it before. It was a new one, I supposed. I didn’t think much more on it though, and just settled on the LARPing solution. By the time we arrived, I noticed that the sun was setting. We started off into the park, and were soon split up into pairs. I was paired off with a college-aged girl, a redhead who’s name was Aurora. She was tight lipped and sullen, to say the least. The two of us were sent near the Royal Ballet School, and I tried to make conversation. I asked what brought her here, and she answered, “Too many eyes, watchers everywhere”. 

I was chilled by this comment, and submitted myself to the silence of the night. I figured that was her backstory, and rolled with it after a moment. We saw the Ballet school in the distance, and saw the silhouettes of a line of dancers in one of the window. We almost walked past it, but soon heard shrill screaming. We looked back up, and saw a gruesome sight. Half of the dancers were on the ground, and I was unable to tell the difference from each dancer, as their innards were twisted and contorted across each other. Those that were still standing looked like they were having the life sucked out of them by other dancers. These other dancers looked like they had some kind of leech tongue that was inside their necks, sucking the blood out of the dancers. As this happened, I saw that their stomachs became swollen and distended with what I assumed was blood. 

I assumed this was all some really elaborate effects, and was fascinated by it. Aurora gestured for me to follow her, and handed me a stake and a shotgun. I took them wholeheartedly, and prepared for what I thought was going to be a fun side quest type mission. We ran across the courtyard and to the door, but before we could open the door, the monsters came crashing out of the door. We jumped back and I began shooting wildly at them. They began going down one by one, with realistic blood splatters from their stomachs and everything, but began standing back up after. As they did, I shouted, a bit obnoxiously, “Hey, no fair! I shot you!”

Aurora and the ‘monsters’ looked at me, utter confusion spelled on all of their faces. I continued, “If you aren’t going to play by the rules or explain them to me, then I’m out.” 

Aurora tried explaining, “This isn’t a game, people-“

“People are dying, I know. Drop the gaming act for one second and actually explain what’s going on?” I asked. 

After she didn’t give me an answer, I simply dropped my gun and stake, turned around and walked away. I think the others were so confused by me breaking character that they didn’t get back to fighting until I was barely out of earshot. The rest of the night was relatively normal. I took the train back from the park, with a few odd looks from the other riders from the blood on my jacket. I got home, and plopped on my bed. I thought about going back and actually apologizing, but figured it was too late now. The next morning while having, my eyes drifted to a certain article that soon held all my attention. The headline of it: Entire Class of Ballet Students Slaughtered. 

My head began swimming, and began questioning everything that happened that night. From there, everything began moving too quickly. When I got back to work, my coworker was nowhere to be found, and I was taken in for questioning not long after. I guess riding the tube with a jacket covered in blood isn’t the best move. 

I’ve got to tell someone the truth, and you seem like the most likely to listen to me. Please, take my word for it. I didn’t murder those kids, the police are lying to everyone. I’m truly innocent, believe me.

ARCHIVIST  
Statement ends. Ah yes; Marvin Strider, the infamous Ballet Slayer. He was arrested and put on a life sentence for the deaths of fifteen students of the Royal Ballet School. No one really knows how he did it, but authorities insist that they have the evidence. Of course, since when do we trust authorities? Now, this Sanctum he spoke of. It’s definitely not something I’ve heard of before. I doubt it’ll ever really be significant again if he’s telling the truth. A large group like that almost sound like a cult, and cults don’t usually catch on and get dangerous. Ah well, I guess we’ll just have to wait for the police to actually release the security footage. And if not, I guess we’ll never know. Recording ends. 

[CLICK]

[CLICK]

ARCHIVIST  
Supplemental. I’ve done a little more digging into the history of Agnes, and it doesn’t seem like there’s anything significant there. Raised by two loving parents, died a good few years ago, and married to Gertrude. However, when I went looking for a gravestone in the cemetery they’re listed in, I couldn’t find any sign of their existence-

[KNOCK, KNOCK]

ARCHIVIST  
Oh, come in! 

CONNIE  
Hey Elias. Say, do you have any food? The lunch meat’s fouler than usual. 

ARCHIVIST  
Oh, um. Not much, [RUMMAGING] just a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and some crisps. 

CONNIE  
God, can I have half? 

ARCHIVIST  
Knock yourself out. 

CONNIE  
Elias, I owe you my life. 

[KNOCK, KNOCK]

ARCHIVIST  
Who is it?

MARTIN  
Oh, just me. Tea?

CONNIE  
Tea too? Damn, you archivists are spoiled down here for sure. 

MARTIN  
Hey Connie, shouldn’t you be in class right now? 

CONNIE  
It’s the lunch hour, and the school lunch sucks a bit more than usual today. So I thought I’d turn to my trusty coworkers to get a good meal. And is that chamomile? 

MARTIN  
Yeah! Want some?

CONNIE  
Oh boy do I!

ARCHIVIST  
Well, you two seem to be enjoying yourselves. 

MARTIN  
Well, Jon’s locked up in his office again and isn’t letting anyone in, so I figured I’d give the archives a visit. 

ARCHIVIST  
Hm. 

MARTIN  
Elias, you seem tense. 

ARCHIVIST  
Sorry- it’s just, I’ve had a lot on my mind lately. Especially with the latest statement. 

CONNIE  
Yeah, the guy thought he could walk through the streets in a bloody jacket and not get convicted for murder? God, what an idiot. 

ARCHIVIST  
Yeah, that was weird. 

MARTIN  
That’s not the only thing on you mind though, right?

ARCHIVIST  
(Sigh) You would be correct to guess that. 

MARTIN  
It’s okay. Just remember, you’ve got friends here. Whatever you’re going through, you don’t have to alone. 

ELIAS  
Yeah, thanks. 

[BELL RINGS IN THE DISTANCE]

CONNIE  
Shit, the bell! I’ll see you guys later! 

[RUNNING, THEN STOP]

CONNIE  
By the way, I noticed Simon seems to be drawing and painting a lot of clouds and skies lately. Not that I thought it was important, but you should definitely check it out one of these days. 

ARCHIVIST  
Thanks Connie. 

CONNIE  
Anytime!

[RUNNING CONTINUES]

MARTIN  
Well, I should check in on Jon, make sure he’s not buried in his work. 

ARCHIVIST  
Alright, see you. 

[DOOR CLOSES]

ARCHIVIST  
O-oh, that’s all I’ve got for today. Supplemental ends. 

[CLICK]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’M BACK, sorry for the silence for two weeks, writer’s block and all that. But I’m back, and with a new story!


	4. Lucky Charm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Statement of Candice Merckle, regarding a lucky rabbit’s foot. Statement given March 20, 2009. Statement translated from German to English beforehand, and recorded December 1, 2016 by Elias Bouchard, head archivist of the Singhal Institute.

[CLICK]

ARCHIVIST   
Statement of Candice Merckle, regarding a lucky rabbit’s foot. Statement given March 20, 2009. Statement translated from German to English beforehand, and recorded December 1, 2016 by Elias Bouchard, head archivist of the Singhal Institute. Statement begins. 

ARCHIVIST(STATEMENT)  
I’m sure you know who I am. Granddaughter of the millionaire entrepreneur Adolf Merckle, one of the richest men in Germany. Well, I’m here to tell you what you know of him is false. He didn’t build his own company from the framework of his family’s. If anything, he should’ve burned it to the ground after his first year there. No, I’m here so that more people can know the truth. I know you’ll believe me, no one else has. 

You know about the details of his death. He threw himself in front of a train in an act of suicide. That part is true, I’m sure of it. The funeral went normally, and then the will reading. That was when it all went down. It was quiet for the most part, only broken by the droning voice of the man reading the will and the occasional sob from my mother being held by one of my aunts. I was indifferent to their grief. 

We lived comfortably thanks to him, but I never really got to know my grandfather. He was always buried in his work, and never let family get too close. I thought he had liked me least of all, as at family gatherings he seemed to try and steer clear of me. I figured it was because I was more independent and lived without his support, and he may have taken offense to that. Regardless of the reason, I was surprised when I heard my name ring out in the room. 

I snapped to attention, my head spinning with so many thoughts at once. He left me something? What was it? Was it a share of his stocks? No, that couldn’t be it. Maybe one of his houses, or companies? Possibly. I listened as he named what my grandfather left me; a rabbit’s foot. At this I heard snickering from one of my cousins, and I was just as surprised. A rabbit’s foot? What was he thinking? Was it some kind of joke or something? I walked up to the front, and the man handed me a wooden box. It slid open, and inside was the preserved foot of a white rabbit on a small iron chain. 

The rest of the funeral went by in a relative blur, and I traveled back to my house soon after. I couldn’t take my eyes off of the foot the entire way home; it was completely unremarkable, but something about it endeared me for some strange reason. When I got home, I placed the foot down at my table to figure out what to do with it. I figured I might as well hang it on something, and looked over at my purse. I placed it there and completely forgot about it from there for quite a while. 

When I got back to the office, my experience was what I’d expect for someone with a recently deceased. A lot of “sorry for your loss”es and “he’s in a better place now”s. It got tedious very quickly. About halfway through the day, my boss called me to his office. He told me the same thing everyone else told me, and then asked me if I wanted a raise for my troubles. I asked him if he was serious, and all he did was nod. To be honest, I had half a mind to not take it. It felt too out of the blue and suspicious. But I said yes, and took the raise. 

From there I began seeing little flashes of gold a lot of other places. I found a dollar bill on the tube, got a free coffee, and found myself finishing work early. I at first thought it was just a lucky day, but that soon snowballed into a lucky week, and then a month. It didn’t take me long to realize the rabbit’s foot had something to do with it, and began to wonder about it. How did my grandfather get his hands on this, and was it the reason for his success? 

The foot’s nature began to come into light when I got a promotion. I came into work one day, and found out that my boss had been sent to prison for tax evasion. The higher ups recommended I filled in my late boss’s position, and I immediately knew the foot had something to do with it. I was a fairly good worker, but nowhere near good enough to get a promotion. Even my coworkers recognized it, as they began asking questions like, “have you been sleeping with your boss”, and “are you paying them to give you a promotion”. I knew the real reason, but I knew I couldn’t say why.

I didn’t take the promotion, and after that I began to pay closer attention to anything else that could be a downside to my luck. And as I did, I became more and more disheartened. My coworkers seemed to be more worked than ever, took pay cuts, and the barista who had given me that free coffee I realized wasn’t at the coffee shop anymore. 

I realized that with the rabbit’s foot, I was prospering while everyone around me was suffering. I had another thought; my grandfather must’ve known about this, and despite that continued to use it. I thought my opinion on my grandfather couldn’t get any worse, it did in that moment. I realized what I had to do shortly after; I had to destroy the foot. I tried ripping it, burning it, cutting it, and even dropping it in acid. Nothing would leave a mark on it. 

It was after that I found it; Salesa and Co. Their newspaper clipping said that they collected blessed objects, for money. I gave them a call, and later that day went down to the harbor, and found a large Samoan man who said his name was Mikaele Salesa. I handed him the rabbit’s foot, and he handled it with a sense of familiarity. He told me, “Yes, I remember when I gave this to Adolf Merckle in his early years. Quite a dullard, a bit incompetent if you ask me. Oh, you’re his granddaughter aren’t you?”

I nodded and stopped him by asking questions of my own; it was about time I got answers. I asked him why my grandfather had bought it; “I believe it had something to do with his crippling self esteem. I doubt that stuck around after I gave him this”. 

Why did the rabbit’s foot hurt other people for me? “Well, it wasn’t always like that. It was once a good object, but I guess your grandfather’s ambitious goals were a little too much on its own. It needed other sources of luck.”

How did he look so young if he had known my grandfather when he was young? “I have my ways, some questions are best left unanswered though”. 

After that question he handed me my money. I gave it back to him though; I already had enough to keep me comfortable until I died. He shrugged, and recommended I give a statement to you before walking off into the snowy night. I had all the answers I needed, with a new place to go.

And so I came here. Anyone else I told this to would laugh at me, and figured that you were a respectable enough place. And so I’m imploring you; tell the public the truth, and make sure his legacy goes down in flames. 

ARCHIVIST   
Statement ends. It seems that this is one of those statements that slip through the cracks and don’t get recorded. I guess Gertrude’s record wasn’t perfect after all. 

And Mikaele Salesa, he seems to be a semi-famous peddler of proclaiming magical wares. He went off the radar about a year ago though, so that’s no help. 

As for the rest of the statement, we find evidence that there is a lot of truth here. There was someone named Andrew Lewis who was fired from a Cafe Bistro during the estimated time slot that Candace had the foot. The company she worked at, Starry Skies, also took on a major project at the time; there’s no doubt everyone there took on a lot of work. 

Past that, there’s nothing more we can get out of this. Recording ends. 

[CLICK]

SIMON   
I’m telling you, that man is real! 

ARCHIVIST   
I’m not doubting that, but what makes you think you’ll find him again? You don’t even know what his name is. 

SIMON  
I know- I know that, but just listen. This is a big place. There’s bound to be a statement about him here! 

ARCHIVIST   
How. How do you expect to find something on one person. 

SIMON   
I don’t know, alright? But believe me, I’ll find it. I’ve got to. 

ARCHIVIST   
(Doubtful) and why’s that? 

SIMON   
(Desperately) Because I’ve been seeing him in my dreams, Elias! That’s why I’ve got to find him! 

ARCHIVIST   
You’ve been through a traumatic event. If anything, I’d expect you to be dreaming about it. 

SIMON   
But it’s more than that! I’ve been seeing clouds and stars in my dreams, not the tunnels of the coffin. 

ARCHIVIST   
Well, I guess that is weird-

SIMON   
(Accusatory) If anything, you should be helping me. You’re the reason I ended up there in the first place.

ARCHIVIST   
Now, no need to throw around blame here. Besides, you said you wanted to help. I was perfectly fine going on my own; you’re the one who wanted to come along, don’t forget that! 

SIMON   
Well, if you aren’t going to help me, I’ll just do it alone then. 

ARCHIVIST   
Wait, Simon-

[DOOR SLAM]

ARCHIVIST  
(Sigh) Ah, you picked all that up, huh? Well, nothing new this week. Simon has become obsessed with this man who saved him from the coffin, so that’s new. Besides that, nothing new. 

Supplemental ends. 

[CLICK]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New developments! Salesa! Conflict! We love to see it! Look forward to more!


	5. Nostalgia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Statement of Jack Willings, regarding a vintage music box. Statement given November 10, 2016. Statement recorded December 15, 2016 by Elias Bouchard, head archivist of the Singhal Institute.

[CLICK]

ARCHIVIST  
Statement of Jack Willings, regarding a vintage music box. Statement given November 10, 2016. Statement recorded December 15, 2016 by Elias Bouchard, head archivist of the Singhal Institute. Statement begins.

ARCHIVIST(STATEMENT)  
I’ve always enjoyed collecting vintage items. Well, I guess I’ve always loved vintage in general. The feel of history in something, the old smell in clothing, and the overall cheapness in them. All in all, it’s always been my thing. I’ve also had a strong love for all things supernatural, and have a hobby of collecting supposedly cursed objects. I mean, they’re not usually cursed; they’re usually just creepy objects that are a bit of an eyesore.

I guess it was only a matter of time before I came across a genuine piece, I just didn’t think it would come like this. I found it at a yard sale when I had been traveling through my childhood neighborhood. There wasn’t anything special about this day, I had just come back from a recent sale and was passing through. I almost passed by it, but I saw a garage sale over by my old friend’s house. It was full of all kinds of stuff that I couldn’t resist getting a look at, so I decided to check it out a bit.

The house it was set up in front of belonged to a friend of mine from childhood, Callum Brodie. Well, friend probably isn’t the right word. He was a bully, to be honest, and I just had the displeasure of living closest to him. He had a habit of scaring little kids and pushing children his own age into dark spaces, which looking back, could be the reason for my nyctophobia today.

The only reason I considered him my friend was because he tolerated my presence and, well, I was a lonely kid. Needless to say, Callum was a menace through his elementary years; something happened in sixth grade though. He didn’t like talking about it, but something changed in him. He was still his old bullying self, but with some kind of deeper darkness behind it. Our freshman year of high school though, Callum went missing and was never found.

His parents held onto the house for as long as I was in town, and from the looks of it were just now clearing out to move. I saw all kinds of stuff I recognized scattered on tables belonging to Callum, and didn’t want to just pass them by. I guess that’s another reason I checked it out. Nostalgia can be an absolute bitch sometimes.

I pulled over and walked over to the sale, where I briefly reconnected with Callum’s parents and began looking around the sale. There were all kinds of trinkets lying around, some in various states of decay, others in plastic bags and crisp condition. I scanned the tables for about five minutes, and my eyes fell onto it. A music box, painted a deep violet peeling around some of the edges portraying a night sky.

By the sight of it, I immediately recognized it as one of Callum’s most prized possessions when we were younger. I remembered the two of us would spend nights together listening to the tune that music box carried. He always insisted that he was the one to play it, and never actually let me touch it.

I knew that I wouldn’t be able to get it out of my head now, so I grabbed and bought it. It was fairly cheap for something so old, and Mrs. Brodie told me as I bought it, “I’m sure he would have wanted you to have this”.

I took the music box and brought it to my flat, and it stayed on my nightstand for a week or two. Eventually, I remembered that it was there after coming home from work one day. I was about to go to bed, and decided that I would try listening to it, for old time’s sake. I cranked the handle, and out played a haunting tune that brought back about fifteen years worth of memories.

The moment it stopped though, the lamp in my room flickered off. I wasn’t sure why at the time, but at that moment, the darkness around me felt deeper than usual. I had one window open, so the city light should’ve illuminated my room well enough. But it almost felt like this darkness was hungry. I brushed it off as a bit of paranoia, and went to sleep. I was restless that night though, and dreamed of a darkness that felt pressing and hungry; something so primal and immense that it could swallow me if it wanted to.

The next day I woke up drenched in sweat, but I assumed it was only a nightmare. I checked my lamp, and saw that the bulb was unscrewed. Who could have done that, I didn’t know. I assumed that I had accidentally done it and forgotten about it at some point. The next night, I left the music box alone. Sometime in the middle of the night though, it woke me up with its song. I woke up to a darkness that felt like the previous night's. This time though, the darkness in the corners of my rooms almost felt menacing. Before I could check on my lamp though, I heard footsteps in the hallway.

It started far away, but they slowly walked closer and closer, getting louder and louder, until they stopped right in front of my bedroom door. I was frozen in fear, and before I could say anything, the door slowly creaked open. It stood just barely ajar, but darkness poured from the pitch black of the hall across my floor. I called out, “Hello? Is anyone there? Show yourself!”

No one answered. I knew whoever was there hadn’t moved, as I didn’t hear anymore footsteps but the floorboards creaking, as if someone was shifting their weight outside the door. I stayed awake all night, staring at the door, paralyzed by the idea the intruder could come into my room in my sleep. The sun eventually came up, and I rushed out into the hall to tackle whoever was out there. There wasn’t anyone. Nothing but a of dark residue of something, that looked to be the outline of feet.

I put two and two together after that; the music box was behind this. I picked up the music box and had the same kind of residue on the bottom as outside my door, and planned first thing that day to sell it. On my way to work I walked into a pawn shop, and told the man I’d let him have it for whatever he wanted. I walked out fifteen dollars richer, and one properly cursed object less.

The rest of the day went by fairly normally. Nothing of interest happened until I got home; the door to my house was open, without tampering to the lock and a pair of dark, slimy footsteps going in. I followed the tracks through my flat, and straight into my room. On my night stand was the music box, in the condition it was in beforehand.

I spent the rest of the day mopping the floor of the dark sludge, and didn’t go into my room that night. I stayed out in the kitchen, with all of the lights in the flat on and watching the clock. I watched the sun set through the window, and waited for hours for the music box to begin playing again. As the night wore on though, I began to think it wasn't going to play. I let my guard down, and at that exact moment I heard the song all the way from my room. As it wore on, the kitchen lights began to flicker and die. My blood ran cold as the song went on and the lights dimmed, and as the song wore on I could see the silhouettes of what could almost be considered people at first glance. The shadows almost felt like they were watching me, and the shadows they cast from the windows were almost distorted, stretched to reach the corners of the kitchen. 

The darkness from here seemed to spread and engulf the corners of the room, and began edging towards me. I grabbed the closest thing to me, a knife on the table, and began walking away from it, This wasn't like any darkness I had ever seen before; as it grouped together and became one great sheet of darkness, it seemed to engulf the entire front of my flat, deep and unperceived. I couldn't see anything in it, and soon enough heard the same footsteps as before. But this time, there wasn't just one pair of footsteps. There was a chorus of them, not giving me any hint to how many there were. To make things worse, they didn't have the methodical slowness they did before. They were frantic this time, and seemed to be running straight from wherever they were coming from. And where they were coming from, this void, sounded echoing and much deeper than my own flat. 

I ran back into the light of my hallway, and down the hall into the bathroom. I locked the door behind me, and listened to the sounds of the footsteps come right up to the door. Shadows seemed to pour across the floor from the door threshold until the entire floor was covered in shadows. At that I did the only thing I thought of in my panic; I stabbed the shadows. As I did, they almost seemed to give way to the knife, as if there was something of substance in it. The shadows retreated and almost seemed to scream as they did. The moment they were all gone, the things beyond started banging on the bathroom door full force. I half thought they were going to break down the door any moment. I screamed in terror, in hopes that someone, _anyone_ , would hear me. I screamed until my throat was scraped raw and my ears rang. But in the end the banging overpowered my screams. I was forced to sleep in the tub that night. 

Morning came, and I awoke to the bathroom door wide open. On top of that, I ended up retching that dark sludge into the toilet the moment I awoke. I think whatever those things are, they've got me now. 

I tried burning the music box off in Hyde park earlier today. I cursed the box, I cursed my hometown, I cursed Callum himself;I can only hope that worked. If not, then I guess I should be ready to say goodbye to... I guess I really don't have anyone to say goodbye to, now that I think about it. I just want to make sure that if I do go, then someone knows how it happened. I hope I haven't ruined your day too much. 

ARCHIVIST(STATEMENT)  
Statement ends. God, this was a hard one to get through. I don't envy Jack, to say the least. Research found that he had disappeared the night after his statement was given; I guess burning it wasn't good enough. We did recover it, so at least Jack managed to make sure no more harm came out of it. 

His collection, if you're interested, was sold by his family to the highest bidder. I can guess they didn't approve much of his little "habit". A shame though, he could have made a good worker in artifact storage. 

Callum Brodie... that name has shown up before. The statement in Greece, I think. Ah well, I'm sure it's just coincidence. As for the terms of this Callum's disappearance, he-

[DOOR CREAKS OPEN]  


ARCHIVIST  
Come in.

PETER  
Hey, Elias?

ARCHIVIST  
(disdain) Yes?

PETER  
So, uh, I was looking over the statement this week, and I accidentally let Connie see it? And she kinda wants to go check it out a bit?

ARCHIVIST  
Wait, what? Why?

PETER  
I'm not sure, all she told me is that it sounded interesting.

ARCHIVIST  
(sigh) That's Research's job, not ours. If she wanted something a little more interesting, she should've gone with that department instead.

PETER  
(defensive) Woah, you're a little on edge today. You good?

ARCHIVIST  
Yeah, it's just- this statement's a lot, you know?

PETER  
Yeah, I get it, not the best way to- you hear that?

ARCHIVIST  
Peter, if this is one of your amateur attempts at a joke, then-

PETER  
No, no, I'm serious!

(DISTANT MEAT NOISES)

ARCHIVIST  
What the-

PETER  
The vents, Elias the vents!

[METAL SQUEALING AND SCREWS POPPING OFF HINGES AS MEAT SOUNDS GROW PRESENT AND MORE NUMEROUS]

ARCHIVIST  
Peter, run!-

[CLICK]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEYYY WE A FIFTH OF THE WAY THROUGH YEAHHH   
> So I'm gonna be taking a quick hiatus from this for a week or two to write for another fanfic dear to my heart that you should ALSO check out; but yes I'm leaving you here! Enjoy the fear of the future!


	6. Visceral Rage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Original recording of lunch food’s attack upon the Singhal institute, London, December 15, 2016.

[INT. SINGHAL INSTITUTE, HALLS] 

[CLICK]

[RUNNING WITH DISTANT FIRE ALARM AND CROWD MURMURING]

ARCHIVIST  
A-ah, Connie! 

CONNIE  
Elias?

ARCHIVIST  
What’s going on? Did you see anything?

CONNIE  
I-I don’t know. I was in the middle of class and then the fire alarm went off, is all I know. 

ARCHIVIST  
Alright, no one’s hurt yet. I haven’t heard anyone scream or-

[DISTANT SCREAM]

ARCHIVIST  
(Tired) I spoke to soon- Simon?

[RAPID RUNNING]

SIMON  
Elias, would you like to explain what the fuck is going on in the archives? 

CONNIE  
Wait, what’s going on in the archives? 

ARCHIVIST  
It’s a long story- 

SIMON  
Long story? There’s a fucking meat monster down there! 

CONNIE  
I’m sorry, there’s a what? 

ARCHIVIST  
I don’t know, okay? It broke in through the vents and me and Peter split up- Peter, oh god I have to go back for him! 

CONNIE  
Hold up, an actual monster down there? 

SIMON  
The supernatural is real, moving on- 

CONNIE  
I still need a moment! My entire worldview was just shattered over here? 

SIMON  
Well why did you join a supernatural job if you didn’t believe in it? 

CONNIE  
Vengeance and the need for cash. 

ARCHIVIST  
You guys are missing the point! Peter’s down there- 

SIMON  
Was there anyone else down there as well? Agnes, a statement giver, another student or employee? 

ARCHIVIST  
Agnes, she’s down there too- 

AGNES  
No need to worry. 

SIMON  
Agnes! 

ARCHIVIST  
Peter! 

PETER  
(Wearily) Hey Elias. 

CONNIE  
But what about the monster? 

AGNES  
Don’t worry, I’ve dealt with that little detail already. 

ARCHIVIST  
(Disbelief) ... I’m sorry, just you alone? 

AGNES  
The flesh monster, for all of its strengths, doesn’t seem to be able to open a door. 

SIMON  
So it’s locked down there? 

PETER  
Yes, but I’m not sure for how much longer. 

ARCHIVIST  
So what should we do now? 

CONNIE  
Shouldn’t we tell the headmaster? 

PETER  
Yeah, Jon might be able to do something! 

[CLICK]

[INT. JON’S OFFICE]

[CLICK]

NOT!JON  
Sorry, can’t help you. 

ARCHIVIST  
Wait, what? 

NOT!JON  
A monster in the archives? Not necessarily my problem until it actually gets out. However, since it’s currently contained, albeit in the archives, it’s not an actual threat. 

PETER  
Oh come on! Isn’t there someone you can call to get rid of it, or something? 

NOT!JON  
I’m afraid it’s not in my hands yet. However, I can relocate you to a spare room for a short while. I’m sure Research could spare a room or two. 

SIMON  
We don’t want a room change, we want that thing out! 

AGNES  
Jon- 

NOT!JON  
Mister Sims 

AGNES  
(Disdain) Mr. Sims, I know you. You can do something about it, and it literally won’t be of any consequence to you. Hell, you’ll be benefiting from this! 

NOT!JON  
I’m sorry Agnes, but I really don’t want to deal with such matters right now. Paperwork is piling up and I want to get it done as soon as possible. 

AGNES  
(Annoyed) Fine, we’ll just deal with this ourselves. Come on you four! 

[WALKING, FIRE ALARM FADES BACK IN]

ARCHIVIST  
Wait- what exactly are we going to do? 

AGNES  
I have half a plan in my head, we just need to make sure that thing doesn’t move from where it is- 

[RUMBLING]

CONNIE  
Uh, guys? That came from the direction of the archives. 

SIMON  
Yep. 

CONNIE  
Should we be concerned about that? 

PETER  
Yeah, probably. 

AGNES  
Exactly why we’re going directly into it. 

PETER  
... I’m beginning to rethink Jon’s offer. 

AGNES  
Don’t worry, we’re going to be fine. 

SIMON  
Can you really say that with certainty? 

AGNES  
No I cannot. 

[CLICK]

[INT. HALLS OUTSIDE ARCHIVES]

[CLICK] 

CONNIE  
Bit of a dullard if it can’t open a simple door. 

SIMON  
I think you may be downplaying this a bit? 

CONNIE  
True, but I can barely see anything past the blood on the door window. So I’m really not in any position to properly judge the situation. 

ARCHIVIST  
Here, just look through the window real quick. You can’t miss that thing. 

CONNIE  
Right, okay... I don’t see it. Well, whatever it was- oh. Oh. Ohhhh..... we really do live in a godless world. 

[DOOR BANGS, GROUP SCREAMS]

PETER  
Can that thing see us? How the hell is that even possible? 

SIMON  
Maybe it hears us? No eyes on that thing to see with. 

ARCHIVIST  
Unless it’s seeing through vibrations or heat, or something. 

SIMON  
Once again. No eyes. 

ARCHIVIST  
... alright then. 

PETER  
Yeah, Agnes? How the hell do you plan on dealing with an abomination that looks like it walked out of some shitty Lovecraft book? 

AGNES  
I’m still thinking, alright? And there’s no need to insult it like that! 

PETER  
I’m sure that thing has earned at least that much insult. 

AGNES  
Wait, what did you say? 

ARCHIVIST  
Wait, Agnes do you have something? 

AGNES  
Alright everyone be quiet, I’m getting something! Insult, insult, insult... Gerry! 

PETER  
Gerry? Gerry! 

CONNIE  
I’m sorry, who? 

ARCHIVIST  
Gerry? We’re getting him? What’s he supposed to do? 

[DOORKNOB BEGINS RATTLING] 

SIMON  
Uh, guys? 

AGNES  
You realize that he can hold his own against these kinds of things pretty well, right? 

ARCHIVIST  
Holding his own is not the same as beating that thing, Agnes. 

PETER  
Come on Elias, have a little faith! 

CONNIE  
Guys, who’s Gerry? 

SIMON  
Guys, seriously- 

PETER  
No one much, just the coolest guy we know! 

ARCHIVIST  
One, that’s debatable. Two, can you really say you know someone if you met only once? 

[DOOR SLOWLY OPENS, FOLLOWED BY MONSTROUS GROWLING. DOOR SLAMS AND IS PUSHED AGAINST]

CONNIE  
So what exactly does he do? 

SIMON  
(Strained) Guys! [THUMP]

AGNES  
He burns Leitners. 

CONNIE  
... Wait, I think I’ve heard of those before. What were they exactly? 

SIMON  
(Scream) GUYS! 

AGNES  
Don’t worry about that now. You all get the door, and I’ll get Gerry. 

[THUMP]

CONNIE  
Right! 

[MONSTER ROAR IS QUICKLY STIFLED AS THE DOOR IS SLAMMED SHUT. THE MONSTER BEGINS SLAMMING AGAINST THE DOOR]

ARCHIVIST  
(Grunting) Jesus Christ; Simon, how did you hold this thing back on your own? 

[MONSTER CONTINUES TO BASH AGAINST THE DOOR AS AGNES DIALS A NUMBER ON HER PHONE]

AGNES  
Hello, Gerry? Yes, we have a bit of a situation here. There’s- [FAINT TALKING ON OTHER END] Yes. 

PETER  
Any day now would be really helpful! 

AGNES  
Hold on- (Annoyed) Bugger off! 

[DOOR LOCK CLICKS, FOLLOWED BY STUNNED SILENCE]

AGNES  
Really, did none of you think to lock the door? 

ARCHIVIST  
Well... 

PETER  
I-... 

CONNIE  
We- 

AGNES  
[SIGH] It’s fine. Alright, so Gerry- [TALKING] yeah, you can come? [TALK] Yeah, Jon’s having a situation at the moment. Not sure the specifics tho- [TALK] okay then, see you in an hour? [TALK] See you then. 

[CALL ENDS]

CONNIE  
So... what do we do until then? 

[CLICK]

[INT. LIBRARY] 

AMY  
And here I thought that you lot had left your troublemaking days behind. 

ARCHIVIST  
Shut up, Amy. 

AMY  
What was it exactly this time? 

CONNIE  
Some kind of bloody monster from the looks of it. And what does she mean- 

ARCHIVIST  
(Frantic) Oh look, there he is! 

GERRY  
Hey. 

AMY  
Hey! No smoking in here! 

GERRY  
(Mumble) Sourpuss. 

AMY  
What was that? 

GERRY  
(Cooly) Nothing. Now, Agnes tells me you all have got a bit of a manifestation down in the archives. 

ARCHIVIST  
Why yes, if you follow me- 

[ARCHIVIST GETS THE WIND KNOCKED OUT OF HIM]

PETER  
(Proud) Right this way, sir! 

[CLICK]

[INT. HALLS OUTSIDE ARCHIVES] 

[CLICK]

ARCHIVIST  
Alright, here’s the monster! Have at it, then. 

GERRY  
Ah, Viscera. Never fond of that one. Ah, mind if I borrow that tape recorder? 

ARCHIVIST  
O-oh! Sure? 

[DOOR OPENS, MONSTER ROARS AS THE DOOR SLAMS VIOLENTLY BEHIND HIM] 

GERRY  
Looking forward to returning you to your master. 

[ROAR, STATIC RISING]

GERRY  
Who sent you anyway? This place is protected by the Beholder’s entirety. 

[ROAR, OVERLAPPED BY SEVERAL HUMAN SCREAMS]

GERRY  
So that must be how you got in. 

[A BLADE BECOMES UNSHEATHED] 

GERRY  
Well, since I’m not gonna get any more useful answers from you, it’s time for you to return to the bloody nothingness from which you were spawned. 

[CLICK]

[CLICK]

[DOOR OPENS]

CONNIE  
What happened? 

GERRY  
It’s gone. I also got some answers out of it. 

ARCHIVIST  
What is it? What did you learn? 

GERRY  
That thing is a rogue minion on Hopworth, and got in through the lunch food of this place. 

PETER  
Hopworth? What, you mean like the Hopworth gyms and restaurants? 

GERRY  
Yes, the one and only. 

CONNIE  
What does a gym owner have to do with all of this? 

GERRY  
So many questions, are you sure you would really want to know? 

ARCHIVIST  
Yes. 

PETER  
No. 

CONNIE  
... will we like it? 

GERRY  
Whether you like it or not, there’s no going back from it. Regardless, you’ve already seen enough to know. 

AGNES  
Gerry. 

GERRY  
(Sigh) Alright then. Hopworth isn’t only a gym owner, he’s got ties to viscera. He’s a loose cannon, willing to make whatever decision fancies him at the time, and with his patron he’s a dangerous enemy. If you lot are lucky, you won’t ever have to actually face him. 

ARCHIVIST  
His patron- Viscera, I'm guessing? 

GERRY  
Indeed. That thing, however, wasn’t here under his orders. 

ARCHIVIST  
Whose orders then? 

GERRY  
Why, its own of course. 

CONNIE  
But why did it attack us? And what do you mean it got in through the lunch food? 

GERRY  
It sensed weakness. From what, I’m still unsure. And it snuck in by taking the place of your lunch food, and accumulated in the sewers of this place. 

CONNIE  
(Horrified) We’ve been eating that thing? 

GERRY  
Yeah, and from the looks of it stole a couple of your fellow classmates in the process. 

CONNIE  
Wait, does that mean they’re dead? 

GERRY  
They certainly are now. Before they were just a part of that thing. Now they’ve been put to rest. 

CONNIE  
Oh god... 

SIMON  
Hey, Connie... 

[CONNIE BEGINS CRYING AS SIMON ILLEGIBLY CONSOLES HER]

ARCHIVIST  
Also, that knife you’ve got there... 

GERRY  
Yeah? 

ARCHIVIST  
Do you... mind if I see it? 

GERRY  
(Laugh) God no, you’ve got enough violence in you as it is. [CLICK OF A LIGHTER] We don’t need you with any more of that in your system. 

ARCHIVIST  
What does that even mean? 

PETER  
Don’t question the man, Elias. I think you know exactly what it means. 

ARCHIVIST  
(Passive aggressive) What’s that supposed to mean, Peter? 

AGNES  
(Warn) Peter... 

PETER  
I don’t think I’ll need to spell it out for you- 

GERRY  
And with that, I think I’ll take my leave. I’d recommend not using that room until the janitor cleans up the blood. 

ARCHIVIST  
Wait, the statements! 

GERRY  
Yeah, you may want to retake some of those, or something. 

[ARCHIVIST’S CRIES JOIN CONNIE’S CRIES]

AGNES  
I suppose we should take Jon up on that offer for a room in research. 

PETER  
Yeah, guess we should. 

GERRY  
See you around then. Here’s your recorder. 

[CLICK] 

[INT. RESEARCH DEPARTMENT] 

[CLICK] 

TESSA  
I don’t even want to know about the blood. 

ARCHIVIST  
Good! It’s best if you don’t ask about it. 

AGNES  
Look, we need to know if you have a spare room. The archives got a little... trashed. And Jon told us you all had a spare room so could you? 

TESSA  
(Sigh) I’ve been working here long enough to know not to pry into other departments’ issues; we’ve got a spare room down there. Just keep in mind to keep away from the last door on the East wing. 

[FOOTSTEPS APPROACH] 

TESSA  
Excuse me. Hello there! Do you need something? 

PIPER  
(Nervous, out of breath) Ah, yes. I was hoping I could give a statement? 

[CLICK]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’M BAAAAAAAAACK! Now, I’m unsure if I’ll get into the groove of a statement a week or you’ll even see another statement this week but yeah, enjoy!


	7. Twisted Sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Statement of Piper Cielo, regarding their time at a psych ward. Statement recorded live from subject December 15, 2016, by Elias Bouchard, Head Archivist of the Singhal Institute.

[INT. SINGHAL INSTITUTE, RESEARCH DEPARTMENT SPARE ROOM]

[CLICK]

ARCHIVIST  
Alright, alright. You sure you’re okay?

PIPER  
Yeah, I’m fine.

ARCHIVIST  
Simon, get her some water. Now!

SIMON  
Right!

[SIMON RUNS OFF AND CLOSES THE DOOR BEHIND HIM]

ARCHIVIST  
State your name and statement summary.

PIPER  
Uh, Piper Cielo for an experience at a psychiatric ward.

ARCHIVIST  
Statement recorded December 15, 2016 by Elias Bouchard, head archivist of the Singhal Institute. Statement begins.

PIPER  
I suppose I should start at the beginning. It started before rehab, the hallucinations; hell, it started before I got into college altogether really. It was all the way back in high school that the trouble really began. Before moving to London, I lived in a small town in Scotland called Kingussie. I had a group of friends that... I don’t actually remember how we got together. There were... eight of us? No, seven.

ARCHIVIST  
Can we get their names?

PIPER  
I’ll see who I can remember. There was Alex Lee, Kevin Sutakira, Jack Bleakney, Aurora Ceartas, Evan Kurvar, Sidney Laskosky, and.... I’m pretty sure that was all of us. We’ve all kind of separated since those days though.

ARCHIVIST  
Alex Lee... I feel like I’ve heard her name before.

PIPER  
You have? Is she in trouble?

ARCHIVIST  
Hm. I don’t remember, but something’s definitely up with your friend Jack. Go on.

PIPER  
Okay, okay. We were a strong group, but that came between us when someone, I don’t remember who, brought us a book of nursery rhymes. It’s been so long I don’t remember the name of it. The book was passed around to each of us and we all read from it. If I could, I would throw that book to the ground right then. Throughout the book were several nursery rhymes, each of them chilling and unnerving in their own way.

There was one rhyme that stuck with me, and has for all of these years. The page it was on was covered in bold colors so bright it hurt to look at, and around the small rhyme was a swirl of crystalline mirrors reflecting back at me in a different position. The rhyme itself, was written in multicolored laminated cursive. It read;

Mirrors break and spirals swirl  
And truth can become lie,  
Where can you see your true face  
When turned from the gaze of the Eye?

The moment I finished it I got the biggest headache I had ever felt. I had to be sent home later that day. I barely got home before I fell into a fever dream in my mom’s car. I remember that dream had me trapped in a room full of mirrors, with each one showing me a distorted reflection. Some of them malformed, others malnourished or obese, some even warped beyond any kind of recognition; none of them showing my real reflection.

I came to in my bed in the dead of night. I was feeling hungry, so I had gone downstairs to get myself something to eat. At the bottom of the stairs was a full sized body mirror, and whenever you do you can see the entire living room from it. I had made a habit of looking at myself at the time, to make sure I didn’t scare myself on my way down. This time around was different though. As I came in front of the mirror, a golden light caught my eye in the reflection.

I looked at it fully, and saw nothing out of the ordinary at first. But when I looked closer, I saw that my pupils had some kind of golden glowing swirl encompassing their entirety. I ignored it at first, out of hope it was nothing but a hallucination. But when I came back up the stairs, the reflection was still there. Once morning came, I asked my mom and dad about it. They looked at my eyes, but they didn’t see anything wrong apparently. When I looked at the mirror, I saw that there was nothing wrong with my eyes either.

The school day went on as usual with the occasional headache, and had a... club with the English teacher, Mr. Blackwood. We had something to do, I think it had to do with the school production that year, and I was coming out of the bathroom when I looked into the mirror again. What looked back was me, but with a wide grin that quite literally stretched from ear to ear. It revealed more teeth than any human should have, and chilled me down to my bones. I told myself it wasn’t real, and that I was hallucinating. The reflection smiled wider though, to the point it split its ears in half, and told me, “Oh no, this is very real”.

I smashed the mirror. I ran out, and asked Mr. Blackwood about my face, and he assured me that I was perfectly fine. His reassurance didn’t stop the reflective delusions for the rest of the year. Day after day, my reflection kept showing new horrors in my reflection, becoming more and more twisted every time. It didn't stop there either. Oh no, soon enough other people's reflections began to come out wrong to me as well. Eventually I just... stopped looking at mirrors. 

I managed to keep away from them for the most part for a couple years. I became painstakingly aware of how reflective juice and water were in that time though. The entire time though, i kept second guessing myself. I wondered time and time again if it were real or not when the reflection was normal again. My friends seemed to be dealing with similar troubles. I remember that Aurora assaulted a teacher before running away. Jack moved away eventually, leaving behind a bedroom encased in spiderweb. Sidney up and disappeared one day. The rest of us eventually drifted away from each other. I pushed my troubles down though, and fought on. I got into a community college in London, and the first half of the year went well. However, things took a turn for the worse when my art teacher began to change in front of me.

It was a boring class that day, we were studying hands and trying to perfect our own. The teacher wasn’t our actual teacher, just a substitute there for the day and then off somewhere else. He smelled like alcohol, I remember that. Anyway, the class was going on and I had looked up at him to ask a question. I fell out of my seat in shock and terror. My teacher was some kind of abstract Picasso figure, made of sharp points and odd floating shapes out of proportion. He was several unnatural colors, most too painful to look at. On top of it all, he was smiling at me; a menacing smile that sent me flying out of my seat. I couldn’t do anything but scream and point as the shapes that made up my substitute shifted and violently changed color so fast I nearly threw up. Or did I?

A week passed by and before I knew it I was checked into a psychiatric ward for schizophrenia. Apparently I had attacked my substitute in my fear, and didn’t protest much more. I thought that I shouldn't give them any more reason to lock me away. This wasn’t what I wanted though. I was on and off of pills every month, and most of the doctors were good and kind; it was pretty clear though that more than a few of them were just there for the paycheck. There were three people there that I was around most though; Michael Shelley, Helen Richardson, and Laila.

Helen was a nurse at the ward. She was nice for the most part, but for some reason my delusions only felt like they got worse around her. I’ve talked to the doctors about it, that maybe she was sneaking something in my food or something, but none of them have ever believed me. The crazy thing was that I’ve never seen her arrive or leave; she was always just there. She was always off anyway, from the smile that felt too wide to her laugh. God, her laughter felt like it could split my head open. When she laughed hard enough I passed out once. 

Laila was one of the other patients there. I don't remember why she was there, but she was a little younger than me. She was always in high spirits for some reason, and loved playing games. By the end of my first month there, she had somehow beaten me at all of the games there. I never won, and couldn't ever understand how. Even when we played chess, a game I'm not ashamed to admit I'm quite good at, she still won in the strangest ways that made almost no sense. She had an upsetting presence as well. Looking into her eyes only seemed to make me dizzy, and there was something specifically wrong with her reflection; it was consistent. she had long limbs that shifted in and out, like a 3D image. 

Michael was a patient as well, but he was different from the other two. Something about his round face seemed to scream with a safe, comforting feeling. H was always quiet and polite, and I couldn't for the life of me figure out what he was doing here. Being around him was nice as well. I can't exactly describe it, but his presence was like a breath of fresh air, or the clarity after a good wank. Nonetheless, simply being near him was enough to clear my head for some reason. I didn't like him though. Don't get me wrong, he was a nice guy and all, he just wasn't really my type. 

The point is, the combination of these three and being in their presence on an almost daily basis was an experience. Then about a week ago, I had more than enough of all of it. I confronted Michael, since he seemed the most docile out of all of them. I asked him why he was the way he was, and all he told me was that I wouldn't understand, and that I should appreciate the gift I've been given. At that point I had snapped at him. I told him that I was sick and tired of being given clarity and having it ripped away from me. How it must be so easy for hi to walk through the day without needing to worry if he'll have an episode or not. I exploded all of my frustrations onto him, and he looked at me almost pitifully afterward. He told me that he cannot fully help me, unless I planned on turning to an all-powerful being of clarity. At this point I knew that he was crazy, and told him to go away. Looking back, I'm wondering if I should have taken that offer. 

Michael checked himself out about three days after that conversation, and Helen and Laila laid on the harshness of their influence with such brutality and glee I was brought to my knees. I didn't get a moment of peace for two whole days, getting plagued nonstop by delusions, no longer bound to reflections. I would see fake people, real ones were warped into unrecognizable figures, and at some points I just closed my eyes so that I wouldn't need to see them anymore. Then yesterday, I realized what I would have to do; I needed to kill either Laika, Helen or both of them. Their power had to be stopped, and if not for me, then the countless other patients who were undoubtedly being tortured by the two of them. 

My plan went into action last night, when everyone else was asleep. I snuck into her room with a pair of blunt scissors, hoping that if it wasn't quick then it was painful, and struck down on her bed. Whatever was under those sheets fell away, and I heard music coming from the 'lounge'. It sounded like it was supposed to be chipper and fun, but sounded like it was off key, constantly going sharp and then flat. I walked into the lounge, but in its place saw a life sized version of the game Snakes and Ladders. Somehow it fit into this tiny space, which hurt my head to properly think about. At the top of this game was Laila, grinning widely and gesturing for me to come up to her. I was in some kind of trance the entire time, climbing ladders that phased in and out of existence and pythons that glowed like neon lights one moment and then were ladders themselves the next. I'm not sure how long I climbed that game, between trying to reach the top and sliding into the gullets of snakes. It could have been hours, days, even months. But I reached the top platform Laila stood at some point, and she gave me another one of those dizzying smiles. Despite my fatigue, I reached out and swung the scissors at her. She dodged them, but seemed almost surprised that I was still standing, let alone trying to stab her. I wasn't able to hold out for much longer though. I passed out on the platform, and when I came to I was in the alleyway beside this place, as a golden door in the wall disappeared the moment I looked over at it. I assumed whatever that was brought me here to give you my statement, but I doubt its done with me yet.

I know this all must sound crazy, but you've got to believe me. To be honest, I wouldn't believe it if I didn't live it myself, but you guys have to. 

[A BEAT]

ARCHIVIST  
It's alright, I believe you. 

PIPER  
(hopeful) Really?

ARCHIVIST  
Yes, and I know for a fact you're not because I know who the two of them are.

PIPER  
Personally?

ARCHIVIST  
(bewildered) No- Not personally! I mean the two of them show up in another statement! Though Laila wasn't a monster at the time. 

PIPER  
(Disappointed) Oh.

PETER  
Hey, Elias? Can I talk to you outside? 

ARCHIVIST  
Well, yes-

[ARCHIVIST IS HAULED INTO THE HALL AS THE DOOR HEAVILY CLOSES BEHIND THEM]

PETER  
(Frantic) Elias, the pieces are coming together. 

ARCHIVIST  
Yes, I know. She, along with a group of other kids, got their hands on a Leitner and have gotten themselves hurt. 

PETER  
No!- I mean, I know the full truth of what happened. 

[A BEAT]

ARCHIVIST  
Tell me everything.

[PIPER SCREAMS FROM THE OTHER ROOM]

PETER  
Oh, god!

ARCHIVIST  
Peter, the door!

[THE TWO FIGHT AGAINST THE DOOR AS PIPERS SCREAMS BECOME FURTHER AND FURTHER AWAY]

CONNIE  
Wait, what's going on?

ARCHIVIST  
Connie, you're here! Help me open this door!

PETER  
Us! You mean us!

ARCHIVIST  
Just do it!

[THE THREE FIGHT THE DOOR OPEN, BUT PIPER'S SCREAMS HAVE FADED AWAY. A BEAT]

CONNIE  
Were you three playing chess beforehand or something?

ARCHIVIST  
Oh no...

PETER  
Wait, there's a note on the board.

ARCHIVIST  
What does it say?

CONNIE  
It says, 'You've had your fun, now it's time for me to feed. Your move, Archivist'.

ARCHIVIST  
(Scared) Oh god... 

[A LONG MOMENT OF SILENCE]

SIMON  
Guys I got water! 

[A SCREAM FROM THE OTHERS]

[CLICK]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I hope y'all liked this chapter! I'd say this is one of the most plot-relevant chapters of the season, so keep it in mind!


	8. Threshold (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Original recording of the disappearance of Simon Fairchild, December 19, 2016

[INT. SINGHAL INSTITUTE, RESEARCH DEPARTMENT SPARE ROOM]

[CLICK] 

[THE ROOM IS SILENT FOR A MOMENT, THE ARCHIVIST SIGHS]

ARCHIVIST  
It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I guess I should give a bit of an update. We’ve made progress on saving the blood soaked statements in the archives, but it’ll still be a while before it’s ready to be used again. My search for the imposter hasn’t changed in progress though, so that’s nothing new. 

However, I was let in on the truth of another matter. Apparently, a village in in Scotland had a series of supernatural events occur about five years ago, leading to each of the children involved to be either marked or become monsters. All except one Steele Luckett, according to Peter. If he is real, then it seems that he has been wiped from existence, with only one person remembering him. That in itself is doubtful, because if someone was wiped from existence, then it means that no one would remember him, no exceptions. 

They were all students under Martin Sims, husband of Jonathan Sims, but going under the surname Blackwood while teaching there. He was present at the time of Steele’s supposed disappearance, and is apparently the one who remembers him. He could be a useful source of information. 

Besides that, not much has really happened. There is a Christmas party happening later this week though, so that should be fun. Everyone’s gonna be there, including Martin. He usually comes and goes, so finding him there will be a great opportunity for- 

[DOOR CREAKS OPEN]

PETER  
Hey, Elias I- really? 

ARCHIVIST  
What? 

PETER  
Recording conspiracies again, I’m guessing? 

ARCHIVIST  
Hey- they’re not conspiracies if there’s factual evidence ingrained in real life to support them. 

PETER  
Sure. So your little ‘interview’ of Agnes a week ago was fully supported by factual evidence. 

ARCHIVIST  
... I’ll admit, it wasn’t my finest moment- 

PETER  
(Bewildered) You’re still recovering from the shiner she gave you! 

ARCHIVIST  
Just say black eye, no need to get all fancy. Besides, you can barely see it now!

PETER  
Doesn’t erase the fact it happened in front of the entire research department. (Laughing) You’re never gonna live that one down! 

ARCHIVIST  
Shut up... 

PETER  
Hey, come on. It could have been worse. She could have been some kind of supernatural entity and melted your face off. 

ARCHIVIST  
(Scoff) As if Jon would actually let one of the things we’re studying work with us. 

PETER  
That’s completely fair. 

[AWKWARD SILENCE] 

PETER  
Fuck it. Tell me about one of your theories. 

ARCHIVIST  
Only if you promise not to smoke in here. It’s our only room, Peter. 

PETER  
Sure. So what’s up today? 

ARCHIVIST  
... for this one you’ve got to promise me you won’t get angry. 

PETER  
Elias. 

ARCHIVIST  
Promise you won’t get angry and I’ll tell you. 

PETER  
I’ll decide after I hear it. 

ARCHIVIST  
(Sigh) Sure. So I’ve been doing some digging, and a source of mine tells me that there’s an imposter here. 

PETER  
Wait- is that your personal project? 

ARCHIVIST  
No, no! That’s- that’s something else. 

PETER  
So who is this source? 

ARCHIVIST  
I’m not at liberty to say who. 

PETER  
Did they at least give a clue to who it is? 

ARCHIVIST  
No. None at all. 

PETER  
And how exactly do you know that your source isn’t lying to you? 

ARCHIVIST  
He’s not- he’s never lied to me in the past, and has always been reliable before. 

PETER  
(Doubt) Ah. 

ARCHIVIST  
Besides, don’t you feel it too? 

PETER  
Feel what, exactly? 

ARCHIVIST  
That sense of... wrongness. I don’t know how to explain it, but it feels like something’s been missing or changed since the Halloween Bash. 

PETER  
God, don’t remind me about that. I still get nightmares about that bug horde. 

ARCHIVIST  
That, combined with the sense of wrongness I’m talking about. I don’t think that’s a coincidence. 

PETER  
Or, you’ve just been paranoid since the incident. It may not even mean anything. 

ARCHIVIST  
(Agitated) I know, there’s something wrong here! And I’ll prove it to you. 

PETER  
Yeah, well let me know when you come up with a list of suspects. 

[CLICK]

[INT. LIBRARY] 

[CLICK] 

[RUMMAGING THROUGH BOOKS] 

CONNIE  
Hey, Simon! 

SIMON  
Yeah? 

CONNIE  
So, I was just wondering if you were free this Christmas vacation, then- what are you doing? 

SIMON  
Just, looking through some books. 

CONNIE  
(Whispered) “Black Magic and Uses”, “Science of the Sky”, (Spoken) Simon, what the hell are you doing? 

SIMON  
Oh, just a personal project. 

CONNIE  
(Condescending) Anything like Elias’s ‘personal project’? 

SIMON  
No not- wait, what’s Elias doing? 

CONNIE  
I don’t know if he’s always like this, but he seems to be a little paranoid. He asks a lot of questions, and has a nasty habit of digging things up in the past. 

SIMON  
What? 

CONNIE  
(Sigh) He’s unearthing my old fanfics, Simon. He’s out of control. 

SIMON  
Wait, you wrote fanfic? 

[A BEAT]

CONNIE  
That’s beside the point, my point is that he’s getting a little too comfortable looking into my personal life, and I don’t know if that’s because he likes me- 

SIMON  
(Laughs) Oh that’s a good one! 

CONNIE  
What? 

SIMON  
He’s gay, Connie. 

[A MOMENT PASSES FOR REALIZATION TO SET IN] 

CONNIE  
Oh. Then why exactly is he looking into my history. 

SIMON  
I don’t know. It doesn’t concern me though, so I’m going to keep my nose out of it. Last time I got involved in something with Elias... 

CONNIE  
What? What happened? 

SIMON  
It’s nothing. He’s got his own business, and I’ve got mine. I can only hope that they don’t cross at any point. 

CONNIE  
What is your business, anyway? 

SIMON  
I’m looking for someone.

CONNIE  
Oh? Who? 

SIMON  
Someone who helped me in the past before, is all.

AMY  
Did you say you’re looking for someone? 

SIMON  
Jesus! (Sigh) Amy, what do you want? 

AMY  
Wow, how rude. And I was here thinking that I could help you. 

SIMON  
I-I’m sorry, what? 

CONNIE  
How? 

AMY  
Who are you looking for, exactly? 

SIMON  
Uh, I don’t remember his full name. It started with Mike, though. 

AMY  
Well, I suppose that much works. 

CONNIE  
What exactly are you gonna do? 

AMY  
When you’re the head librarian, you often find yourself with a lot of free time on your hands. For instance, I’ve found that your colleague Agnes spends a lot of time in the tunnels beneath the institute. 

SIMON  
So what? 

AMY  
Follow me. 

[CLICK]

[RESEARCH BREAK ROOM]

[CLICK] 

[SILENCE, ONLY BROKEN BY MONOTONOUS SANDWICH CHEWING. THE SILENCE IS BROKEN BY THE RISING AND FALLING OF HIGH PITCHED SQUEALING]

AGNES  
(Sigh) Martin, you know I hate it when you do that. 

MARTIN  
Sorry, I’ve got a free period at work and didn’t see you in the archives. (Uncomfortable) Speaking of which, what happened down there? 

AGNES  
Oh yeah, that... 

MARTIN  
Did something attack, or... 

AGNES  
The Flesh attacked. More specifically, one of Jared Hopworth’s creatures. 

MARTIN  
Ugh. Never liked him. 

AGNES  
Anyway, it’s gonna be a while before we can actually use the archives again. 

MARTIN  
Yeah, with the state it’s in it’ll be a while before anyone can properly clean that up. 

[A BEAT]

MARTIN  
Tea? 

AGNES  
Yes, thank you. 

[MARTIN BEGINS MESSING AROUND IN THE KITCHENETTE]

AGNES  
So, how’s Jon doing? 

MARTIN  
Oh, actually I was going to ask you about that. Jon has been up in his office at all times. Paperwork and all. 

AGNES  
Yeah, he’s locked himself in there and almost never comes out. 

MARTIN  
Huh. 

AGNES  
You think he’s... gone off the deep end? 

MARTIN  
No, if that were the case I’m sure we’d know. (Laugh) 

AGNES  
(Laugh) What would he do? End the world? 

[A BEAT FOR REALIZATION TO SET IN]

AGNES  
(Shock) No. 

MARTIN  
Yeah! Don’t underestimate him, I’ve got no doubt he could end the world if he wanted. He wouldn’t be cooped up in some stuffy office if he gave into the Ceaseless Watcher. 

AGNES  
I mean, it feels in character for someone with the Beholding to go for it. Just sit in his office, watching over everything, feeding off of the fear of his workers. 

MARTIN  
Come now, you don’t think he’s Jonah, do you? 

AGNES  
Who knows? Not me for sure. 

[MARTIN AND AGNES SHARE A LAUGH]

MARTIN  
Well, with the Christmas party coming up I might actually get to see him again. 

AGNES  
Yeah. This one’s not as big a deal, so a lot less work is gonna go into it.

MARTIN  
One last little time together before the holidays. 

AGNES  
You think Jon will go home? 

MARTIN  
Hopefully? I’m honestly not sure at this point. We’ll just have to see. 

[CLICK]

[TUNNELS]

[CLICK]

SIMON  
Amy we’ve been walking for half an hour, we shouldn’t even be this deep in the tunnels. 

AMY  
Just a little further.

CONNIE  
Where are we going anyway? 

SIMON  
(Annoyed) You know, you didn’t have to come. 

CONNIE  
I just wanna know what’s up, is that so hard to believe? 

AMY  
And here he are! 

[JUDGY SILENCE]

SIMON  
It’s a door. 

AMY  
Just knock. 

CONNIE  
Are you sure you should? 

SIMON  
If you’re here to second guess me or just doubt me, then just go back. 

[SIMON KNOCKS. THE DOOR CREAKS OPEN SLOWLY]

HELEN  
Hello librarian! 

AMY  
Hi Helen. 

SIMON  
Wait, who’s this? 

HELEN  
Oh, I am nothing near a “who”, little worm. I am what you would call a What. 

SIMON  
(Angry) What did you call me? 

CONNIE  
Uh, probably not a good idea to talk back to the distorted woman? 

AMY  
Helen may be able to help you with your conundrum. 

HELEN  
Librarian, I’m not an encyclopedia. Turn your gaze on your own forces if you’re looking for knowledge. 

SIMON  
I’ve been searching for nearly two months and have found nothing. I need some help. 

HELEN  
In an entire ocean of knowledge, finding a single drop could take years.

SIMON  
I don’t have years! I work at a paranormal institute for God’s sake! I could have a decade, a month, hell, I could die tomorrow! So can you help me or not? 

HELEN  
Oh, I like this one. Very feisty. Alright, I’ll see if I can help you. 

SIMON  
You will? 

HELEN  
Of course. I am very generous. Just follow me and you may find an answer to your question. 

CONNIE  
Hold on, that’s a strong “maybe” right there. 

SIMON  
And what if you don’t have my answer? 

HELEN  
I suppose if I fail, then you could return. 

SIMON  
“Could”?

HELEN  
Things may get mixed up in my halls. You may find yourself at your destination, you may find yourself on the other side of the earth, or you could get trapped in here. Depending on how I feel. 

AMY  
Helen! 

HELEN  
(Mock whine) What? 

SIMON  
Alright, let’s go. 

AMY  
I’m sorry, what? 

CONNIE  
This woman just said that she’d trap you in those halls at a moment’s notice! 

SIMON  
And if she doesn’t, I’ll get my answers! 

AMY  
I’m beginning to regret bringing you here, you know that? 

SIMON  
I don’t really care! My answer could lie on the other side of this threshold, and if I do get trapped in here I could find a away out. I’m smart, guys. 

CONNIE  
Simon. Are you sure. 

[A BEAT]

SIMON  
I’m not even sure, myself. 

HELEN  
Come along then.

SIMON  
Tell Elias I’m sorry. 

[THE DOORS CLOSES]

CONNIE  
W-what now then? 

AMY  
(Intense) We tell someone. 

[CLICK]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! Sorry this came out so late! this chapter's gonna be part 1 of the christmas event, which is late for christmas I know. But bear with me here, Simon's gone! Again!


End file.
